Armed With a Laugh
by TheRatKing1
Summary: This is the story of a guy (Me) who gets stuck back in time and gets mixed up in all sorts of Toon-y mayhem including finding out his great-uncle drew some infamous villains to life, having a heart-to-heart with a hard-boiled detective, getting kidnapped, restoring hope, and learning a life lesson READ AND REVIEW! Rated T for the Weasels and some mild cussing


(Author's note: I wrote out, nearly word-for-word, Marvin Acme's deleted funeral scene, and I re-inserted the deleted "Pig-head" scene. In addition, I put Judge Doom's Vulture and "Kangaroo Court", as well as the weasels that were edited out back into the storyline.

My Great-Uncle George Kreisl actually existed, and without him, the Golden Age of Animation probably wouldn't have been very golden without his work for Disney and Hannah- Barbara. I dedicate this fan-fiction to him, and my mother, who suffered through me staying up to ungodly hours typing this.)

"Armed With a Laugh" –"Who Framed Roger Rabbit"

Whenever I read a story, I'd always thought how stupid it was that when someone was narrating, they'd remembered everything that happened, even quoting what the people said word-for-word. But typing this…let's just face it; my memory is crap when it comes to quoting this much of what someone said.

So I won't be like other people narrating something amazing that happened to them, so I'll be honest: this is all approximated. It's impossible to remember everything, unless you're one of those people with photographic memories, so the entire text of this is what I remember, but it's pretty close to what actually happened.

Here goes nothing.

It was Wednesday, August 13th, 1947.

My Great-Uncle George Kreisl was about six feet tall, with a receding hairline. He had what I thought was a grim face, but it was counteracted by a twinkle of merriment in his eyes. He looked a bit like a skinny version of the comedian, Stubby Kaye, only with a lot more hair. He was a cartoonist for Walt Disney Studios in Hollywood. George worked on all of the cartoons featuring Mickey Mouse's beloved pet dog, Pluto, and painted the backgrounds for "Snow White", "Cinderella", and several other well-known movies. Check him out on IMDb. His name might even be in some of the credits for those movies I mentioned.

He was a serious artist who lived in a large, ranch house in West Hollywood, where he and I were sitting, in his informal living room. (Yup. He was that rich. He had a formal and informal dining, and living room!)

I sat facing him on the loveseat. He was wearing a dress shirt with white and blue pinstripes, and a wide tie with blue and gray ovals running down the center on a background of horizontal black stripes on a white background. His black suspenders matched his high-waisted pants, and he was wearing black and white saddle shoes.

I was wearing a white striped dress shirt, and a 1940s brown silk tie patterned with bright yellow crescents. I wore black suspenders, gray suit pants, and caramel colored wingtip shoes. The matching double- breasted suit jacket hung in the hall along with my brown, wide-brimmed, wool fedora.

George shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You're my only hope to get home, Mr. Kreisl. Without you telling me what I need to know, I might as well kiss my home goodbye. Can you help me," I begged, "Please?"

He gulped, slightly, and said, "Young man, if you really claim that I'm your only hope to get home, I'll try my hardest. What exactly is the problem?"

"This is a bit of a whopper. I think you might just lock me up in the local nuthouse," I said, with a small, apologetic smile.

"I work with cartoons for a living. I go home and have hallucinations half the time. I don't think you could say anything that can shock me."

With an absurd burst of courage, I said, "I'm from 67 years in the future, and I'm your great-nephew. Rudy's grandson."

"Margret's brother?" he asked, amazed. "Why…why he's only eight years old!"

"He won't be eight years old in 1965 when my mother is born, Mr. Kreisl."

"Nineteen-Sixty Fi-..," he trailed off, "That _is_ a whopper, " he said, looking understandably flustered. "Though," he continued, with a slight twinkle in his eye, "I've heard much stranger things before. Now, what exactly does all this have to do with me, again?"

"This isn't a joke, Mr. Kreisl. Somehow, a pair of spats, of all things, zapped me back here. "

His smile faded. "Well," I continued, "not _zapped_ exactly. More like…like… I don't even know. The closest I could come to describing it is the colors running out of everything, like dripping paint. Then the paint reversed direction and re-shaped itself into my new surroundings."

I paused to study his expression. I was never good at that, really, but I could tell he was at least perplexed. " Nothing is exactly right to explain it, but all I know is that these," I said as I held up a pair of old-fashioned white spats, "were in a box of your old things from the house in Thousand Oaks- somehow they ended up there- and my grandmother found them when we were sorting through it. I just put them on for kicks and giggles a while later, clicked my heels like in "The Wizard of Oz", and bingo, bango, bongo, I find myself right outside of the entrance to Toontown. I didn't even think Toontown was real!"

"Believe it or not, I've heard much weirder things than that". Continuing, he asked, "Now about the spats… if you know how you got here, why not does what you did again to get yourself home?"

"I tried that," I sighed "I only ended up back at the entrance to Toontown again on Mt. Hollywood Boulevard. I figured that since they brought me here, and they were in your things, you'd know more about them than my grandmother." I shrugged. "Whose were they? How do they work? And why did they take me to Los Angeles of all places? Obviously, these aren't your everyday, run-of-the-mill spats."

"They're cartoon spats," He said, with a smile, "Everybody knows that when you wear something fresh from a character's cel sheet they can do some very unusual things. For instance, ballet shoes from one of my Pluto shorts : if a human were to wear them, they'd make him or her a dancing master! I know exactly-"

"I'm sorry, but I'm still very new to all this. As far as I knew, Toontown was just a fictional place made up for a movie. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the concept that the guys from "Looney Tunes" are all real, live action actors. Imagine my surprise when I saw the Toon Patrol car and the actual Toon Patrol driving in it. I was scared out of my wits!"

"Yes," smiled George, knowingly, "I felt the same way when I first started working for Disney six years ago. It's a lot to take in. It's almost too much to take in, if you're new to the city."

"So, how does it all work? How do they draw a Toon to life?" I asked, curious about the physics of it all.

"It's not as exciting as it sounds. New Toons are drawn almost every day. I forgot how they used to do it, but back about 10…12 years ago, they began using multiplane cameras to animate Toons. You insert the cel drawing of the Toon, and the camera projects and animates it. I'm not fully sure how it works. It was more difficult back in the Twenties and early Thirties, until Walt Disney came out with his multiplane camera, which radically changed the way Toons were drawn to life."

He paused to take a breath, and continued, "They used some sort of a newfangled projector back before Disney's camera, I think.. But this was all before my time. My first characters were a group of about eight or so weasels for 'The Adventures of Ichabod Crane ad Mr. Toad". Now they've been made the top law enforcement agency in Toontown. They call themselves the Toon Patrol, or something like that. They're the henchmen…or, henchweasels, rather, for the Chief Justice of Toontown, Judge Doom."

George continued, "A gargoyle of a man, if you ask me. Word was that he bought the election. It begs the question as to why such a cold and merciless man would want to be the presiding judge of a town of goofy characters."

"I agree wholeheartedly, but back up for a second…_you_ drew the Toon Patrol to life?" I stared at him, mouth nearly agape.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, those spats belonged to the leader of the group. Wiseass? Smartguy? Something like that."

"So how do they work?"

"They're designed to return themselves to their original owner, where they live. You ended up right near the entrance of Toontown. I don't think they'll go into Toontown. The physics in our world and in Toontown are enormously different. Since they were drawn in the real world, but using the limited Toon physics that have a foothold here, they only worked partway, which was probably why the boss weasel-"

"Smartass," I supplied, nodding my head slightly.

"That's his name!" he shouted, triumphantly, and seeing the look on my face, he said, "I wasn't the one who named them. Walt asked me to draw a group of tough-guy weasels for some last- minute touches on 'The Adventures of Ichabod Crane and Mister Toad'. This was my first little tiff with Disney, because he had me draw them entirely new wardrobes. He and I had very different definitions of what a tough-guy Toon should look like. I drew them as gangsters, and…well, you've seen the movie, I assume, so you probably already know how they looked on film."

"Yes. I guess they didn't like the new outfits much. Or the fact that they had to act, either"

"You've guessed correctly. I knew that they would be trouble pretty soon after we were finished filming. But they can't help it. They were drawn that way, as villains."

He sighed, and said, "At any rate, what you told me about where you ended up explains why Smartass left them with me. He just discarded them after filming was over. I see he found another pair to wear," he said, with a hint of distaste.

"They were created here, so they only could take him as far as the entrance to Toontown. If I draw a new pair, and dedicate the drawing to you, the spats should, in theory, work for you and bring you back to almost exactly wherever it is you were…ah..._zapped_ from."

"What if the owner of the spats were to, for example, die? Like, what if Smartass was subjected to the Dip, or died from laughing too much?" I asked, already thinking about how I would return here after the Toon Patrol ceased to exist.

"I'm not too sure. I should think that they would still work. I've had something similar happen before where a pair of the Toon version of Fred Astaire's tap heels still worked for his understudy after he was Dipped by Judge Doom last year, so I think it should work. They were drawn specifically for him, but they worked for the understudy."

He chuckled a bit, "But I'm not exactly an expert on this. No one is, with the sole exception of Toontown's creator and owner, Marvin Acme. This isn't an exact science, you understand. Bringing a Toon into existence, and the physics of the 'death' of a Toon are still a mystery. But, I think I should be able to send you home within a week."

I could hardly believe my ears. He found a way to send me home, almost straight away!

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kreisl! You have no idea how much this means to me!"

"Call me 'Uncle George', seeing as how we're family. And it's really no problem. But, I'm not exactly sure when I can get the chance to do it. They have several new skits that need a new load of characters drawn to life. It may take a while. You can stay here if you like, until we can get you back to where you belong."

"I'll take you up on that, but I may have to get a job first. I don't know how long I'll be staying here, after all."

"Well, there's an opening at the studio as a storage clerk, I think."

"Actually, Uncle George, I have another job in mind. Do you know the address for Valiant and Valiant?"

"The detective agency? Hold on. I think I have a business card somewhere," he said as he got up and retrieved his business card holder.

When he returned, he handed me a coffee-stained white card which read "Valiant and Valiant, Private Investigators." Below it, the address: "1130, South Hope Street, TEL: MAdion-3529".

"You can keep it," he said, "I have several others. Do you need a ride there?"

"No thank you. I'll just take a Red Car before it's too late. Hopefully, I'll see you when I get back."

He looked confused, so I said, "Cloverleaf Industries bought them."

"Oh, yes, I heard about that."

"What does a Toon physically feel like Do they have a weight? A texture? Or do they feel like the celluloid, ink and paint they're made of?" I asked, changing the subject.

"It's difficult to explain. They have a weight to them, though, for some of the smaller Toons, it's very slight. They usually feel like their real-life counterparts, which is odd. They don't look two-dimensional, though. It's..it's really something you'll have to experience for yourself. It's amazing, actually. But they feel, too. They know what pain and heat and cold feel like because that's how they're drawn. They aren't really living things, but they're made to be like they are. Whatever the role demands of them, they do, which is how they can feel. We don't….project our own emotions onto them, but they already come with them. They're alive, and they exist, but not in the sense of you or I. They love, they hate, they feel emotions, but not like humans, because they're not….born, or taught. They're drawn. It really brings into question one's views about life as a whole, doesn't it?"

"That must be why they're a….basically a repressed minority now. That also might be why I had to go 67 years in the past to hear about them. Maybe the people of my own time didn't want people to know about them, because of the physically impossible things they can do that humans can't do: because people could be scared of some kind of stupid potential uprising. Can you imagine it?"

"I never really thought about it that way. But Toons are made to make people laugh. They're comedians. Actors. How can people think they'd start an uprising, or some other stupid thing?"

"Ask the people who don't allow Toons in most of the establishments in L.A."

"True. You know, you may also be on to something with that 'laughter being a powerful thing' bit. I think it can also apply to Toons."

"How so?"

"Toons don't have much…footing in this world. They're, as you said, a minority. Laughter is what they know best. It's their tool, their weapon to be of some influence in this crazy world of ours. Without laughter, they're nothing, really. _We're_ nothing, too. Laughs can make us human, if you really think about it."

"Maybe that's also why Toons die of too much laughter: because they're simply_ not_ flesh and blood creatures."

"Quite true. It's an almost godlike complex, making these Toons come to life. They're like children, pure, and innocent, and made to convey something pure and innocent. If people took advantage of something like that, where would the world be? It would be wrong. It would also be like taking advantage of ourselves, which we successfully manage to do anyway. Laughter _does_ make us human. It's what makes us…well, us. If we had no laughter, no joy, or happiness or love, would we still be human? Maybe that's the reason for these cartoons. To make us laugh, and make us feel human. To recapture that essence of pure love and joy when we were children with cartoons. The love and security and the laughter. If that very essence of humanity were taken away, where would we be? People need to laugh, and be happy. That's why Toontown is so important to us as we are to it: because it makes us live. It makes us human."

Maybe that's also why Doom wants to destroy Toontown, I though.

"It's a grim thing to be thinking about. It's also something that can really make you question the boundaries of life and all that philosophical stuff. Not something I really want to think about before dinnertime. Well, Uncle George, I have to go. I'll be back soon, I hope" With that, I headed to the nearest trolley stop on Sunset Boulevard, and was on my way to Eddie Valiant's office.

I would have called, but I don't think Eddie would have been in his office at that time. He was probably headed to the Terminal Bar on 6th avenue and South Hope Street, where his girlfriend, Dolores worked.

That, plus the old phone system was confusing. The way it worked was you gave an operator your number with an exchange code- in my case, it was MA, for Madison, and the MA meant the first two digits of the seven-digit phone number are 62. The 3529 part was just the rest of the number. So, basically the full number for Valiant and Valiant would be MA (62)-3529. The exchange code has nothing to do with your area or country. It's just a name that's assigned to a certain part of your city.

I _think _I explained that correctly. I'm not sure.

At any rate, the ride was long, mostly Sunset Boulevard was a major, and might I add, _long_ boulevard. I almost dozed off a bit, but luckily the driver was announcing stops. I caught him saying the name as I was _just_ drifting.

I drowsily stepped off the trolley and was nearly blinded by the late-afternoon sun. I nearly collided with a mailman handing letters to a stocky man in a brown fedora. I was still groggy, and it was only when I saw his tie that a little red flag went up. Only one guy I know would wear a tie _that_ ugly: Eddie Valiant. What luck!

I was a bit confused, though. Today was Wednesday, and when Eddie did what he just did in the movie, Dolores said tomorrow was "Fry-dee". I guess the movie screwed up a few facts. Enh. That's what happens with these sorts of things, I suppose, even though "Who framed Roger Rabbit" wasn't technically a based-on-a-true-story movie. It also made me wonder if the writers or whoever it was that was supposed to be in charge of these things actually knew that it really happened. Did they use the real Roger rabbit in the film? If they did, why would they need a voice actor?

Ugh. This made my brain hurt.

Getting my train of thought back on track, I thought I could pass for someone older than I actually was, especially with how I was dressed, so I don't think I'd get kicked out if I went into a bar. Heck, even though I was only 16, I doubt the patrons would have cared. Dolores might, maybe, but she'd be too distracted demanding what happened to the second half of the hundred dollars Eddie owes her, or griping about someone wanting continuous re-fills of their beer.

With mounting confidence, I crossed the street and climbed the stairs, under the flickering neon sign for the Terminal Bar. Just as I was up the stairs, the ceiling lights sparked and flickered and a trolley roared by. God, how could these guys stand it here with all this noise, I thought to myself.

Soon, Eddie stormed past me, still furious at the bar patron, Angelo for that quip about working for Toons. I shrugged, figuring I'd talk to him later.

"What's his problem?" said Angelo, a stocky working man with a florid face, who was chewing the rest of the hardboiled egg that Eddie shoved in his mouth.

"A Toon killed his brother", said Dolores, glumly, causing an outburst of gasps and "huhs?' from the patrons at the bar. "Dropped a piano on his head."

Dolores had on her yellow and brown waitress' uniform, which was a bit rumpled. Her hairstyle, a bouffant, touched here and there with strands of gray, puffed along the top of her head, forming a messy roll by the nape of her neck, was at least a few years out of fashion. Her face was weary, and her eyes looked like they'd seen happier times. She had on bright red lipstick, which only made the lines around her eyes stand out, but the one thing I couldn't help but notice was her deep laugh lines that formed creases by her mouth. She _had_ seen happier times.

"Nasty business, all that." I said, casually, taking Eddie's vacated seat. "Never mess with a guy who's as hardboiled as the egg you're about to eat."

"He's been through a lot, my Eddie," said Dolores, taking away Eddie's abandoned shot glass to wash it. "He hasn't had a very happy life."

"We all have our stories, Miss…," I trailed off, uncertain of her last name.

"Verne," she supplied, "but just call me Dolores. Every other drunk around here does. Now, can I get you anything, or are you just going to sit there and stare at today's specials?"

"I'll just have a Coca-Cola with a lemon wedge. I don't drink, and I don't intend to start "

I'm an actor at heart, and this was my only chance to act like a character in an old detective/film noir movie, so I said, "Tell me, my dear Ms. Verne, or …Dolores, rather… what do you know about Eddie Valiant's latest case?"

As she filled out my order, she said, "If you're going to deal with anything involving Eddie, you may as well start drinking now." She slid my drink across the table, Western movie-style. "I don't know much. Say, what's it to you anyway, buster?"

"Let's just say that I think I can help should he ever need it."

She poured Angelo a refill of his Corona, and said to me, dryly, "Well I don't think he's looking for a new partner, but he sure does need some help, all right," earning a few snickers from the other patrons seated at the bar.

I sipped my drink. "I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."

"Eddie threw out his bills in the trash. Do you honestly think he'll hire anybody, regardless of how much he needs the help? We have an opening here if you're interested."

"Doll-face, I can't tell if that's just the long-suffering bartender in you talking, or if this is a serious job offer."

"This is a serious offer."

"I'll have to pass, since it would seem that this bar isn't long for the world."

She smirked slightly at me, and said, "Was that just the dry-witted bar patron in you talking, or is it that obvious this place is for sale? How'd you know, anyway, kid?"

I said nothing, and jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the "Now a Cloverleaf Industry" sign across the street, on the brick walls of the Pacific Electric Terminal.

"Well," she continued, "You're right. The Terminal Bar is in danger of closing, and soon, too."

"I wish you the best of luck keeping this place open if Cloverleaf takes over the Red Car line."

"You mean _when_ it takes it over. You're the one who pointed out this greasy spoon's for sale, after all," she said, sourly.

"No. I mean _if_. There's a way out of this mess, but the only way you can help is to be there for your boyfriend. Help him with this case however you can. Speaking of, I hear rumors that Cloverleaf also bought Maroon Cartoons and are interested in Acme's properties."

"Well, I didn't hear that anything about that." She noticed I finished my drink, and she said, "That'll be thirty cents."

I handed her the change from my trolley fare (Only five cents!), and I stood up and said, "Well, gents, and Dolores, I must be going. Goodbye, everyone, I'll remember you all in therapy!"

I made it to the stairs, turned around and said, "You said your boyfriend's had a hard life? Be there for him while you can, Dolores. You never know when you can be ripped away from your family."

Walking down, I thought to myself how well that went. Then I realized how stupid I was. Not only did I alter the timeline, but what if the Toon Patrol comes after me to find out what I know? Would Dolores rat on me? Why would she, though, I thought, as I crossed the street towards the building that housed Eddie Valiant's office.

He must be in there. Where else would he be? He won't take those pictures until later, so he's probably getting ready.

I walked up to the third floor, and knocked on the door of Valiant and Valiant, room 710.

Just as Eddie was about to open the door, I wondered what I was doing here, really, since Dolores told me I wouldn't get a job. Then, it opened a crack, disrupting my train of thought. Eddie poked his head out of the door.

" I gave at the office. I'm not interested in a new vacuum, and yeah, I already heard the Good News. I don't talk to salesmen." said Eddie, gruffly. His shirt collar was undone, revealing a few scraggly chest hairs, turning gray, slightly. He needed a shave, and the stubble was also sprinkled with a touch of gray. His suspenders were dangling from his pants, and his tie was loosened almost to the point of being undone. He looked extremely disheveled.

"I'm not a salesman, Mr. Valiant. Although, by the looks of it, maybe you _do_ need a new vacuum for your office."

He glowered at me, and was about to slam the door in my face when I said, "I came to ask if you were looking to hire anybody. I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."

"Well, I sure as hell ain't hiring. Now beat it, buster. I'm in the middle of a case."

He came this close to closing the door in my face, so I gathered up the guts to stop it and walk in.

"I can help, you know," I said, as I walked in. "With your case."

"It's just a quick little snoop job. I don't need help to take a few pictures, kid. Now get the heck out of here already. And close that damned door behind you when you go."

"All right," I said, as I wrote down the address and phone number for Uncle George's place. "If you ever need help, my offer still stands."

And with that, I headed back to Uncle George's house, to the closest thing to home, and the closest thing to family I had at the moment.

I got home at around 7 o'clock, and was met with a nice dinner, cooked by Margret, a kind woman slightly shorter than her husband, who bore a slight resemblance to my Pop-pop. She was beautiful, too. A roundish face, with wide lips with deep red lipstick. If you knew these types of things, you'd know she had a very eastern European face.

She wore a black and white gingham housedress and had her sausage-curled hair tied back by a red scarf. All she needed was the strand of pearls around her neck to look like a flawless housewife. Regardless, she was just as welcoming as her husband, who had only told her that I was Rudy's cousin visiting from New York

We exchanged small talk. How did I like Los Angeles. How was New York, and the family. How long I'd be staying. George inquired whether or not I got the job at Valiant and Valiant, and I told him, tactfully, that Mr. Valiant would be thinking it over. I went to bed, exhausted, at around 10 o'clock, and woke up the nest morning, Thursday, August 14th, almost the same as I felt last night. Time travel sure takes a lot out of a guy.

It was some ungodly hour- I honestly forget what time it was- around 5:30, I think- that I woke up, hearing someone who'd soon be _very_ sorry that they'd disturbed my sleep, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell repeatedly. I quickly dressed in the same outfit as yesterday, and I was grateful Margaret had cleaned my shirt.

So whoever it was continued pounding on the door, and I heard an all-too-familiar voice nasally drawl out, "Open up, in the name of the law already! We've been standing out here for 15 minutes, and we're gonna kick the door down if somebody don't open it!" Holy crap, The Toon Patrol was outside the door!

I opened the door, and tried to hide the fact that I was shaking a bit, and said, "Kreisl residence. The owners of the house are currently asleep, or at least they were, until you guys started pounding on the door." I plastered a sickly-sweet smile on my face and said, "May I help you?"

"Kreisl? The guy that drew us to life? Huh. Small world, eh, boys?" said Smartass, watching the other four weasels chuckle nastily, and turning to me, he continued, "Now…are you the kid that visited the Terminal Bar at 5:30 yesterday?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"That's for us to know, and you to find out, bub. Just answer the question."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I was."

"We know you went to see Eddie Valiant last night. What was that about? And don't lie, kid, we 'corrugated' it with that ugly waitress inside that you was there askin' to see him."

"It was just about a job. I'm looking for work, and I wanted to know if he needed any sort of help. Why do you guys want to know anyway?" I asked, as they started walking off down the walkway towards their car.

"We don't have to tell _you_, kid. We got everything we need to know from you…for now. Have a wonderful stay in Los Angeles! We'll be back!" called Smartass over his shoulder, sarcastically, as the weasels climbed in the car and sped off, tires squealing.

Just then, Uncle George and Aunt Margret, clad in bathrobes, hair mussed, walked towards me. "What on Earth was that?" demanded Margret, smoothing her hair.

"The Toon Patrol wanted to know what I was doing over at Valiant and Valiant yesterday. They must be interested in him." I said, shutting the door.

"I knew those awful Toons would cause us trouble one day, George. I told you that you shouldn't have drawn them as gangsters."

"I'm kicking myself every day for that, dear, believe me."

After a pause, he said, "Well, I suppose not a one of us is going back to sleep after this. We may as well have some breakfast."

Aunt Margret beat the eggs, and Uncle George prepared the bacon while I set the table. When breakfast was finished, Aunt Margret asked me, "Are you going to buy any new clothes? I saw you have only one shirt and one suit. We could go shopping later today."

"You don't have to-"

"I insist." She said, as she smiled sweetly.

I was about to say no thank you, but I stopped, remembering she and Uncle George never had any children. Maybe this was her way of being a mom for somebody, in her own way. That's probably just the English student in me looking for symbolism in every sentence again, though. I'd only known the lady for a few hours, so I didn't think I could jump to conclusions yet.

"Bullock's opens at 9. It's on 7th and Broadway," offered Uncle George from the next room.

"I'm not one for shopping, usually, but all right. Count me in." I smiled.

Several hours later, I walked out with a navy double breasted suit jacket with wide pinstripes, black pinstriped single breasted suit, several white dress shirts, one magenta shirt and a matching tie, and several new fedoras, in addition to the clothes I came here with.

Oh, I never said why I was dressed like I was from the 1940s in the first place when I came here. My aunt and I were planning on going to a 1940s themed restaurant in the city that evening. I guess when I got back I'd be the best-dressed guy there!

I planned on wearing the black suit and hat with the magenta shirt and tie to Marvin Acme's funeral later that day. The news came as a shock to Aunt Margret when we heard a newspaper boy calling out the headline on the corner right outside of Bullock's. I suggested that I go and pay my respects to him, and she gave her ok.

It was held at Inglewood Cemetery, in southwestern L.A. I saw Eddie there, among the attendees, which was composed of many Toons I had never heard of before up until that point. Then, who should show up but none other than R.K Maroon, who stepped out of a long black limo when Valiant and I arrived. Bluto, Popeye, Elmer Fudd, Herman the Mouse, Felix the Cat and Goofy unloaded the casket from the hearse, and Yosemite Sam bore the weight of the casket from below.

This odd procession walked towards the grave, and I noticed Felix the cat was fighting back tears.

I noticed Tom and Jerry, Catnip the Cat and Andy Panda directly across from me. Watching the Toons carrying the casket were Porky and Petunia Pig, Horace Horsecollar and Clarabelle Cow, Jerky Turkey, the Big Bad Wolf and Droopy.

My eyes traveled up a ways and I saw Junior and George, director Tex Avery's hound dog characters, Practical Pig, Sylvester the cat, Fifer and Fiddler Pig also in that row.

This, to me was even more heartbreaking than Acme's funeral. Who today remembers these once beloved characters?

Goofy exclaimed, "Gawrsh! Pall bearin's shore hard work ain't it? A-hyuck!", which I found to be in really bad taste.

Popeye replied, jokingly, "We're bearing Paul? I thought we were bearing Acme."

"Ah hates funerals," groused Yosemite Sam from under the casket.

Elmer Fudd chastised him, "How can you kid awound at a time wike this?"

Bluto must have thought the same thing as me, because as soon as the casket was set down, he and Popeye immediately started to have a fistfight. The pall-bearers peeled away from the sides of the casket, leaving poor Yosemite Sam with the full weight of it

He pulled out his pistols and hollered "Hold it, ya varmints! I'll plant him myself!"and, with that, he unceremoniously dumped the coffin in the grave. He continued, hollering to Foghorn Leghorn, "Awright, you big-mouthed bantam….preach!"

Valiant turned his head, and I followed his gaze, where I noticed Maroon walking up to Jessica, taking her arm and saying something to her, and the two left to talk privately. Valiant followed them.

I didn't have time to think about what just happened when Foghorn cleared his throat and began his sermon.

He drawled, "Today we commit the body of Brother Acme into the cold, cold, I say, I say, the cold, cold ground. We say goodbye to a man who was more generous than a homely widow with Sunday supper. Why, when Toonkind was splattered forth upon this landscape, we wandered these hills without a home, that is, until Brother Acme painted up his backyard for us to live in, thereby creating the old, I say old neighborhood…Toontown."

He droned on like this, and my eyes wandered upon Casper the friendly ghost accidentally scaring away Donald Duck, daffy Duck, Baby Huey, Hippety Hopper, Dick Tracy and Tubby the Tuba when he asked if someone would be his friend. (The old "IT'S A G-G-G-G-HOSSTTT! AHHHHH!" bit. You know what I'm talking about, right?)

Eddie came back from wherever he had followed Jessica and Maroon to, when Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, and human actors Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable came driving up the hill to play golf, heaven knows where. I couldn't hear the conversation very well, but this was the best I could make out.

Bugs stepped out of the car and turned to Valiant, chewing a carrot. "Pardon me, Doc, " he said, " I hate to interrupt your bird watchin', but is this the right boneyard for the Acme funeral?"

Valiant glanced at the four of them, decked out in golf playing outfits. Bogart was about to say something, but Bugs cut him off, "I know, I know, Doc… tis a hill of beans in this crazy, mixed up world."

He turned to Gable and said "Don't it bother you that he's always sayin' the same thing?"

Foghorn wrapped up his sermon. "We shed no tears for we know that Marvin is going to a better place. That high, high, I say that high-larious place in the sky."

The dirt was filled in by several cartoon buzzards, and eventually, it was only Eddie and I left at the gravesite.

He suddenly turned to me. "I hate this place, kid. I always hated this place. Come on," he waved over to me, heading towards the right, "I wanna show you something."

He led me down a small hill where we stopped at a large marker labeled "Valiant". It bore three names. One read "Fredrick Valiant, Beloved Father and Husband, March 24th 1865-May 27th 1916". The second was, "Betty Valiant, Beloved Wife and Mother, August 2nd 1869- March 15th 1926".

The final one read "Theodore Valiant, Brother, June 22nd 1895-August 14th 1942"

"What was he like? Teddy, I mean," I asked him.

Slowly, he said, "Teddy…Teddy had a slow and easy smile. He loved to joke around and laugh and he was a bit of a dandy. Always raked up expensive bills at Bullocks. You'd have liked him. He knew all those stupid rules about men's clothing. Like…like how if you have a red and white pair of those Oxford shoes, you treat them like they're an all red shoe when you're dressing up. Dumb little things like that. You and he woulda gotten along famously." He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief at the memory.

He continued, "He was the brains behind our cases, and he did a lot of the detecting, while I did a lot of the legwork. He loved to dance, too. He loved Glenn Miller and all those Big Band leaders. We did almost everything together, even when we were kids growing up in the circus with mom and pop. He was the one that brought Dolores and me together back when she was still our secretary. God, I remember back in Catalina like it was yesterday. It was August, back in '42. We goofed around with those sombreros and ukuleles… back when I still knew how to goof around. God damn it I miss him." His voice broke slightly. There was a silence for a few seconds. I really wished I could have met Teddy Valiant. He seemed like a truly great man. Without him, I truly think Eddie was…incomplete. It was Eddie and Teddy, Teddy and Eddie, Valiant and Valiant. Now…. it's just Valiant.

"Seven years ago today." said Eddie, startling me. "Seven years of staring down at the bottom of a bottle. You don't know what it's like, kid. You haven't lost someone you love."

"Mr. Valiant, there are many ways to lose someone you love. Right now, I'm stuck thousands of miles away from my family, and I have no idea if they even know where I am. I'm as lost to them as Teddy is to you, practically, and I can assure you, it hurts like crazy. We're both lost now, you and I. We're in the same boat."

I waited for him to say something, but he said nothing. "The only way we can find our way back is to let the past go already. It's dragging you down, and it's dragging me down."

He snorted derisively. "You gotta be what.. 16? What part of your past could you possibly regretting?"

"I did something incredibly stupid that wound me up here. I didn't even tell anyone I did it, and now my family's probably worried to death about me."

"Is that all? _I'm _practically responsible for Teddy's death. I was the one who wanted to go into a little dive down on Yukster Street in Toontown to chase this guy who'd stolen a zillion simoleons from the Toontown bank. He dropped a piano on us from 15 stories….. I can still see that last look on Teddy's face when I realized it wasn't a Toon piano. He was still laughing, thinking we could just walk it off. I can still hear the sound of that wood splintering as Teddy was crushed under it. It shoulda been me that was under there. I shoulda pushed him out of the way."

His voice was raw and harsh. This took a lot to open up to me like this. After all these years it was still a fresh wound.

"You're right, Eddie. I don't know what you went through, but I do know that you aren't defined by what you did or didn't do that day. You aren't the one to blame for that. If you keep looking backwards towards the past, you can never go forward. The last thing you say Teddy was doing before the piano fell was laughing, right? Remember him like that. He'd want you to remember him like that. It's important to remember him like that. And it wouldn't hurt to crack a smile every now and then, you know. A wise rabbit once told me that a laugh can be a very powerful thing."

I turned to face him, "Why, sometimes in life, it's the only weapon we have."

"Do you expect me to go out there and 'fight my demons' with a laugh?" he asked, bitterly.

"No, but I do expect you to not give up. Laughter makes us human. That's what these Toons are really for. We need something to recapture that pure love, and joy when we were young, before the world royally screwed us up. Toons are the physical embodiment of that pure love and innocence and imagination, and if we lose that, if we lose those basic things that make us human, when we were capable of felling that pure love, and pure humanity, we lose everything. We feel nothing. We might as well be nothing. So….live, love and laugh again. Be thankful you're still alive to make the world how you want it. Don't sit there wallowing in alcohol and regret. You're not a pickle, so don't brine like one. And God knows that you've probably consumed enough alcohol over the past few years to brine and preserve you for a century. But just…just don't give up. This whole world's a great world after all. That's my point. You need to live again. You need to solve this case. Go home, back to your office and solve this thing. You'll feel better when this is all over. Everything will be different then."

"How do you know?"

"It's just a feeling. You helped almost everyone in Toontown at some point or another. It's time to help yourself. Don't let the one bad thing that happened to you stop you from living again."

After what seemed like an eternity, he said, "You're right, kid." He exhaled through his nose slowly, "I'll go. I don't know what I'm going to do, exactly, with what I got about Acme's murder, but you're right."

"Trust me. All the answers are waiting at your office. You just have to find out where they're hiding. I know it still hurts to talk about this, but the only person who can make it stop is you. So don't drink and feel sorry about yourself. Don't be a pickle. Be…. Be a cucumber."

He gave me an odd look, but flashed a small smile. "Thanks for that bit of…incredibly weird advice, kid. If I need you for anything, I'll drop you a line."

"I think you had better just come and pay a call personally."

"I will"

"Oh…Eddie?" I called.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Good luck."

"Thanks, kid. Thank you for that."

With that, he left, headed to his car, while I headed towards the trolley stop.

I headed towards Uncle George's home, and thought about what happened. It was almost nightfall by the time I got back, and I collapsed on the bed, wiped out.

The next morning, I dressed in the navy jacket and gray slacks, with a matching hat and tie, and, later that day, nearly early evening, I found a surprise visitor being entertained in the informal living room. Aunt Margret was making polite small talk with Eddie Valiant, who looked like he'd been through Hell. He and I glanced at each other, and Margret took the hint that Valiant wanted to talk to me, and she left the room.

"You wouldn't believe what happened to me last night, kid." He began.

"What happened?"

"Well, cop a squat and let me tell you. It's a bit of a whopper."

"I can assure you that I've heard stranger things. Mr. Valiant."

"Well, it happened like this, really. It was late last night, and I left Roger at the bar with Dolores. I went back to the Ink and Paint Club to see if I could dig up Acme's will."

He paused, and continued, "I climbed in the window, and fell right on my ass. I opened the door, and Bongos, that gorilla bouncer knocked me out cold. I woke up to find Judge Doom staring down at me."

" Pick him up' ," he says to the gorilla, who lifts me into a chair.

"'Rummaging in a lady's dressing room!' "exclaims the Judge, ""Tisk, tisk, tisk! What were you looking for, Mr. Valiant?' Damn, I hate that slimeball."

"Jessica says, from her seat on the bed, 'Last week, some heavy breather wanted one of my nylons as a souvenir."

"'Look, doll,' I says to her, 'If I'd have wanted underwear, I'd have broken into Fredrick's of Hollywood! You know damn well I was looking for Marvin Acme's will!'"

So Doom says, "'Marvin Acme had no will. I should know. The estate's in my jurisdiction.", and he sits down in a chair, facing me."

I said, "'There's a will, all right! She and R.K Maroon killed him for it!'"

Jessica got up and stomped towards me and says, "'That's absurd!' "

"I say, 'Someone else was in here looking for the will, too! Probably Maroon's flunkies! And I would've caught them too, if cheater here hadn't interrupted me!' so Doom looks at me, and the gorilla reaches out to take a swing at me, and Doom says, 'Take it easy, Bongos! We'll handle Mr. Valiant our own way.' And he gets this smirk on his face and says 'Downtown.'"

"So I think he means Downtown, as in the L.A P.D, so I say, 'Downtown! Fine! Let's get a hold of Santino!' I'd be more than happy to go Downtown.', but Doom says, 'Oh. I'm not talking about _that_ Downtown. I'm talking about Downtown _Toontown_.', so I get nervous, and I hear those damned weasels laughing, and Smartass walks in and says 'You were warned to say outa this case, Valiant! But you didn't! ' So now I'm really scared, and I say , 'No, not Toontown, No, please, no!', and the next thing I know I'm screaming at the top of my lungs as they drive me to Toontown in the back of their '37 Dodge Humpback. I don't remember much, but, oh God, it was horrible! I flew out of that tunnel the next morning, and they come back out, and I hear them cackling, and Greasy says while the others are laughing their damned asses off, 'Kinda stubborn, wasn't he, boss?', and Smartass says, slyly, 'Kinda pigheaded, I say! I think it's safe to 'presume' he got the message!', so I take off the sack they got covering my head, and they painted a Toon pig's head on me!"

"No!" I exclaimed, and Valiant said, "Yeah! So I feel that they drew something on me, but I couldn't figure out what it was at first, so I go running down the street screaming 'AH! I've been Toon-a-rooed!', and when I get back to the office, I wash the damned thing off with turpentine, and then Jessica comes in this morning, and then-"

I cut him off, "You don't need to tell me the rest. This happened last night into this morning, you say?"

"Yeah. Look, kid, the reason why I'm telling you this is because I need your help. This is way bigger than just the murder of one old jokester."

He said, "I know the connection, though! Cloverleaf wants to get a hold of Toontown. That's why Maroon, Roger's boss, sold his studios to them. So he and Cloverleaf can take over Toontown for themselves."

"You _do_ realize that Cloverleaf industries is a mega automobile manufacturing company, right? Why would they want Toontown? Or a cartoon studio? It makes sense why they bought out the Red Car line, but not why they'd want Toontown or a cartoon studio," I said, playing Devil's advocate.

"It's the only thing that makes sense. Here's what I'm thinking…Maroon wants Toontown for Cloverleaf, so that's why Acme was cacked. Cloverleaf bought the Red Cars to put them out of business to….to what, make everyone buy cars? Maybe they need Toontown and the studio for money!"

"I don't think money laundering has anything to do with this. And, besides, "I said, polishing my glasses, "why would Judge Doom and his goons be so concerned about this?"

"It directly affects Toontown. They'd have to be concerned."

"Do you honestly think those slimy characters over there would honestly care about Toontown's welfare?"

He made a small noise of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Look, kid, I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I _do _know that Cloverleaf, Maroon, Acme, and Toontown are somehow all connected. Now, Roger and I are gonna confront Maroon about this later tonight. We could use all the help we can get. I'm giving you that job offer now, kid. And I really need the help."

"I'm sorry, Eddie, but I can't. I'm leaving Los Angeles really soon. I'm not cut out for this kind of work, anyway. I could never replace Teddy."

"So that's why you…. Look, I'm not worried about that, kid. I'm not looking for a partner; I'm looking for help, and I came to the only guy I could trust now."

"I really can't, Eddie. You don't understand. I could be leaving any minute now, practically. I'm… I'm no detective either. I'm just a kid; not a film noir detective. I'm not chickening out, Eddie, but I simply can't help. My ticket out of here is coming sometime really soon, and I can't afford to miss it."

"Is L.A really so bad, kid?" he joked.

"No! It's just that I've been away from home for days, and I'm scared out of my mind, and I'm lost…and…and… I just want to go home," I said, miserably. "I'm not like you. You're a survivor. There's a reason you last name is Valiant and why my last name isn't."

"It sounds like you need a pep talk, too. Just think about what you said back there in the cemetery to me, kid. You can't give up so easily. That's not how life works."

"I know, but this is something I can't do. I have a feeling this could end very badly if I were to join in on all this so late in the game. It's just not meant to be. You and Roger are the only ones who can do this and succeed. I'm sorry, Eddie, but I can't help you now."

"You sure, kid? One last chance," he said, getting up from his seat.

"I'm sorry. I'm going to be leaving, maybe even today. I'm sure we'll see each other again, someday, maybe."

"Hey, kid?" he called from the doorway, "About what we talked about in the cemetery…you were right. Thank you"

We exchanged our goodbyes, and he left. A few minutes later, I heard a car pull up in the driveway. It was too early for Uncle George to be home, so I opened the door just before whoever was behind it could knock, and it was, surprise, surprise, the Toon Patrol again.

I couldn't keep my annoyance hidden this time, so I spat, "You guys again? Don't you have anything better to do than to bother me? Why don't you go and smuggle some booze or something?"

Greasy and Wheezy stepped towards me, and both grabbed my arms tightly. I struggled to get out of their grip. "Let me go, your glorified ferrets!"

"Take him to the back of the car, boys!" ordered Smartass

"What have I done wrong?" I demanded

"The Judge wants to ask you what your real involvement is with Eddie Valiant, in person," sneered Smartass, as Psycho giggled evilly.

I was tossed in the back of the van like a sack of flour. Before the door was slammed shut, I demanded, "Well, aren't you going to read me my rights?"

"As far as we're 'discerned', kid, you _have_ no rights!" spat Smartass, as he slammed the doors shut, engulfing me in total darkness.

The ride to wherever it was they were taking me was hot, and stuffy, and smelled of old cigarettes and cheap whiskey. Smartass' erratic driving only made the trip worse, so by the time they had stopped, I didn't think I was in any condition to do anything, let alone be interrogated by that gargoyle of a judge.

They doors opened, nearly blinding me with sunlight. It was clear from the ambient noise that we were in Toontown, because the hair had a hazy glow to it.

I was dragged out of the back, and led to a crumbling hovel on Yukster Street, where Judge Doom himself stood waiting in the doorway. He was almost identical to the way he was portrayed in the film, except he carried a large black doctor-style bag, and had a Toon vulture perched on his shoulder.

He said, silkily, "So this is the young man who's been cavorting about with our dear friend Mr. Valiant. Bring him in, Sergeant," he called to Smartass.

I found myself being plopped into a rickety chair in the living room that I wasn't certain could fully hold my weight, and saw my wrists being bound together by Stupid.

He sat in front of me on a sagging, dusty loveseat which literally groaned when he sat in it. The carved lion's paws on the legs of the chair flexed their toes in protest.

"Tell me, young man, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Valiant?"

"I first approached him two days ago looking for a job. He turned me down, but we bumped into each other yesterday at Acme's funeral, and then earlier today when he stopped by at my Uncle George - that's George Kreisl, mind you- to see if I wanted the job after all. I turned him down, because I will be leaving the city sometime soon," I said, trying to sound calm, but only ended up sounding like what I was: a sixteen-year-old scared out of his mind, and being interrogated by a truly evil man.

All those daydreams where I'd pictured myself in a similar situation, and I act unafraid in his presence, and tell him I know everything weren't even worth the brain power I used to think of them. I was in way over my head and I knew it. He could sense I was scared stiff, too. You could see it in that reptilian smile he had plastered on his face.

"I see," he said, coldly, his glasses glinting. The vulture on his shoulder squawked at me, and Doom smiled evilly. "Would you like to know what I have to say about that?"

He opened his black bag, and out hopped twelve Toon mother kangaroos. Twelve joeys came out of their pouches with letter placards, which, between the twelve of them, spelled out, "You're guilty!"

"That," sneered Doom, "is what I have to say about your story. There is something you are not telling us, and until you feel like telling us exactly what, you will stay here. Slimey, Flasher and Ragtag will watch your every move, so I doubt you'll be able to escape."

Three new weasels entered from the other room, and I instantly recognized them from their concept sketches. Slimey and Flasher were supposed to be in the movie, but they were edited out. Ragtag was introduced in a follow-up comic.

"Don't worry, Judge," said Slimey a Greaser weasel, as green slime oozed from his nose and mouth, "We'll watch the kid. We'll make sure he don't escape!" Man, this guy needed a box of Kleenex. Badly, too.

"I have no doubt that you will," said Doom. To the remaining weasels, he said, "Go and find the rabbit, men! Let me know when you do, as I have other business to take care of."

"You can't just leave me here," I cried, "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That is entirely up to me to decide, young man. I am a judge, after all, and I say that you're impeding an official investigation into the murder of Marvin Acme. Obstruction of justice, liable for a lengthy prison sentence."

"I'll get out of here, and when I do, I'll tell everyone who you are and what you're planning!"

He whirled around and stormed closer to me. "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice sttely calm, but radiating with anger.

"I know your secret, Judge. And not just the business about the freeway, either. I know who you really are, you murdering piece of ...erm... I can't exactly say that word in polite company, even though there's nothing polite about any of you, so...um...you murdering piece of...paint?" i trailed off awkwardly. Figures. My morals got in the way of ruining a perfectly good line.

"Paint?" he laughed a cold laugh, "Now, why would I be a murdering piece of paint?'

"Why do you never blink? Ever? Why is there a breeze that always tugs at the hem of your cape, even indoors? Why do you wear gloves, and those tinted spectacles?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're implying."

"You know darn well what I mean. You're a Toon. _You _framed Roger Rabbit for Marvin Acme's murder!"

I saw a small flicker of fear flash across his face, but he simply said, "The ramblings of an adolescent boy. Come, men, we've got a rabbit to catch!" With that, Doom and the Toon Patrol left the house and sped away in their car.

Hours turned into minutes, and the Toon sun in the window started to yawn and grow dim. I was kept under constant surveillance by the remaining weasels, and I was trying, and slowly succeeding to undo the knot. When I finally freed myself, I kept my hands behind my back, and called over to Slimey, "Hey, you got any liquor in this dump?"

"Got a craving, huh, kid? ain't you a little young to be drinking?" sneered Slimey, pouring a drink into a shot glass from a dusty decanter of single malt whiskey.

"I don't care! I sure do! And I need it badly!" I said, trying to sound desperate. So far, my plan seemed to be working.

"Well, I got news for ya, kid. That drink is all mine!" he gulped down the shot. You could see the liquid go down his skinny throat as his Adam's apple moved along with it, but then he dropped the glass. "Oh... crap." He muttered, as his face slowly became red, like a rising thermometer. It contorted and turned green and blue and his eyes popped out of his head. The sound of a steam whistle grew louder and louder, and Slimey shot up in the air like a rocket, smoke blowing out of his ears. A gale-force wind shook up torrents of dust in the room, and I leaped out the nearest window. I stood to watch the house when the dust settled, and I saw Flasher, Slimey and Ragtag in the midst of a brawl. Just then, a single Toon butterfly landed on the roof of the tumbledown structure, and it collapsed completely in a heap of splintered wood and shingles.

I got out of there as fast as possible and was nearly run over by a '41 blue Ford Deluxe Coupe as I was crossing Drury Lane in Toontown. It looked like it was chewed; swallowed and spat back out of the mouth of Hell, but it was still easily recognizable as Eddie Valiant's car. The top had been sheared off and dangled like a paint chip stuck in a spider's web, most likely because the driver of the car was Roger Rabbit, himself.

"Jeepers, buddy!" he exclaimed, "I almost hit you!"

He pulled over to the side of the road and hopped out towards me. "Say, do I know you? I'm Roger," he exclaimed, grabbing my hand with both of his and shaking it up and down rapidly until my arm literally wiggled like spaghetti. "Roger Rabbit."

It was an incredible moment, shaking hands with him. He had a definite weight to him, and you could feel it. It was about the same weight as your average handshake. I felt his fur, and it _felt _like real rabbit fur, but didn't look like my brushing my hand against his arm had any effect on its surface. The cloth of his gloves had a satin-y feel to them, but didn't look textured. I almost expected him to have no weight at all, but here he was, all three-and-a-half feet, and 95 pounds of Roger Rabbit, standing before me.

When he moved, he wasn't two-dimensional, in the sense that I could see the contours that formed his body, and the wrinkles in his red overalls, and the highlights and the shadows. It was like looking at an action figure of a comic book character: they look flat on the screen or in the drawing, but in person, they have shape, and substance and contours. Does that make sense?

(Author's note. Reply when you comment on this with whether this made sense or not)

This was when I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore, so to speak. This was my defining moment. To have a living, breathing, talking creature made of celluloid, paints and ink right there with me, and shaking hands with him was life-changing. I'm not kidding.

"Nice to finally meet you. Look, Mr. Rabbit, I-"

"Call me Roger, p-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-lease, "he said, sputtering out the "P" in "Please". He smiled warmly. "So what's a human doing all the way over here in Toontown, anyways?"

"I was just kidnapped by the Toon Patrol, and -."

"What does the Toon Patrol want with you?"

"Well, you see-"

"I hate those guys! They're after me, too!"

"Yeah, I-"

"You don't think I did all those bad things they say I did in the papers do ya?"

"No, Roger, I-"

"Phew!" he wiped a hand across his forehead." I'm glad that somebody's on my side! Because I didn't kill Acme! I can't hurt a fly! I won't and shan't hurt a fly! You gotta believe me!"

"I do, and -"

"I couldn't hurt anybody like that! I only want to make people laugh! I couldn't kill anyone! Period! "

He thought for a moment, and continued, "Exclamation point, question mark, semi colon, and lastly, comma!" he said, with a flourish of his yellow gloved hands.

"I can see that, Roger, and-"

"So how'd you escape from the Toon Patrol?"

"I made one of them drink whiskey and that distracted the others, and I escaped. Then their house collapsed. You should have been there! It was hilarious!" This time, he didn't cut me off. Amazing.

"It's that kind of comedy that's not in the entertainment business nowadays. I mean, look at my boss, R.K Maroon. He doesn't have a sense of humor! And then there's my buddy, Eddie Valiant! Ever hear of him? He's-"

"I know who he is. He and I are…..acquaintances. You can't exactly be friends with Eddie Valiant."

"Oh I know! He's a real, genuine, one-hundred-percent hardboiled private eye! You know, I never met one before I met Eddie! Man, if there was ever a guy who needed a laugh, it's Eddie!"

"I know, I know, I know. I heard about his brother." I glanced around and saw Eddie headed towards the alleyway across the street, with Jessica on his tail, speaking of.

"But what I was saying before about the entertainment business…did you hear about his new thing they invented called a television set? It's like a movie theater right in your own home! This isn't good!"

"Why not?"

"This'll be the end of cartoons being shown before films! I'll be out of work!"

"Oh, no you won't! Maybe they'll show your cartoon skits on this new television thingy. You never know. This'll be the wave of the future!"

"You really think so?" he looked up towards me, hopefully.

"Sure! What with your…..talents, " I said, not saying what I really wanted to say, which was "hyperactivity levels that rival a hummingbird after eating too much sugar", "I'm sure you'll do fine. There's always work for comedians."

"That's super, buddy! I knew talking to you was a god idea! Now, I-"

I cut him off, "Don't you have some running away to do?"

His eyes widened. "Oh you're right! I can't stay here! Not with the weasels after me! Do you need a ride? I can drive, no problem! I'm the best driver I know!" he said, a smile beaming on his face.

Yes, I thought. That's why the car looks like it lost a fight with a can opener.

I weighed my options. A car ride with Roger Rabbit that would most certainly bring on imminent death, or a car ride with Roger Rabbit, the title character of my favorite movie. I decided on the second choice, and hopped in Eddie's car.

"Where to? I know this city like the back of my paw!" he said, indicating the back of his left paw. He peered at it closely, "Say, is that a new splotch?"

I might end up regretting this. "J-just drop me off at the Terminal Bar on 6th and South Hope."

"Okey-dokey!" he said, driving towards the entrance/exit of Toontown at breakneck speeds. I gripped the door handles do hard that my knuckles turned white. Roger Rabbit was definitely a lead-foot driver if I ever saw one.

This car ride was even worse than the trip with the Toon Patrol. It must be something with Toons that makes the majority of them such awful drivers.

We turned a sharp corner and Roger nearly flew out of the car. "Where did you get your license?!" I screamed over the noise of the wind, "Out of a cracker jack box?"

"No, silly! That's where I got my social security card!" he hollered, narrowly avoiding crashing into a lamp post, "I got my license at the Toontown Department of Motor Vehicles!" he laughed. "See for yourself!"

He took out his wallet, not focusing at all on the road, and showed me his license, which had a goofy headshot of him, cross-eyed.

With a gloved hand, still not looking at the road, he tapped the bottom of the card, "It says here that I'm an organ donor, too! But the joke's on them, since I only have a piano! Whoo-hoo-hoo!"

I tightened my grip on my seatbelt.

We arrived at the Terminal Bar, and it was already night-time, and very late. Almost 11:20. I was shaking like a Chihuahua, when Roger pulled to a stop.

He finished saying, "And _then_ I said to Benny, 'Who says I'm a bad cook? You haven't tried my cereal yet!"

"Ha-ha," I muttered flatly, too shaken up to at least manage a fake chuckle.

He hopped out of the car and opened my door. With a sweeping flourish of his hands, he said, "Okay, buddy! Here we are! Thanks for using Roger's Car Company! I'll see you around! I gotta head back to Toontown!" He sped off towards Toontown, leaving me wanting to kiss the ground with relief for no longer being in that death-trap of a car. Needless to say that was kind of a deterrent for learning to drive.

I shakily walked up the steps, and not surprisingly, the bar was still open. They had a late-night happy hour. Dolores was wiping down the counter, and there were a few people sitting around the tables.

"You again?" asked Dolores, with a sour frown. "Shouldn't you be in bed or sneaking out to go to the late-night movies or something?"

I said, sarcastically, "Your concern is appreciated, Ms. Verne. I was just kidnapped by the Toon Patrol, and got a lift here, courtesy the world's worst driver." I plastered a fake smile on face, "How was _your_ day? Did you have fun stuffing olives and pouring martinis?"

She blinked a few times. She was still wearing her red suit that I remembered from an earlier scene, but had removed the jacket and hat. She was wearing a white tailored blouse with shoulders padded like a lunatic's cell.

"And I thought _my_ day was rough," she said, wringing out her rag in the sink. She whirled around and asked, "Say, have you seen Eddie? He just stormed out of the movie theater with Roger with some crazy idea in his head about how to crack this case of his."

"Oh, so I see Eddie _has_ told you about me. And I did see him. He was in Toontown, actually. He and Jessica are probably heading to the Acme Factory."

"Oh, _her_. That painted hussy, "she scowled, the dislike evident in her voice, "But what would they be doing in the Acme Factory?"

"I'm sure I don't know," I half-lied, taking a seat at the bar, "I overheard some of what they were saying when they ran by. Something about Judge Doom being behind all of this. Shocking, isn't it?"

"Not especially. That Nazi of a judge would sell his own mother to get what he wants," said Dolores, stepping around the back of the bar and sitting next to me. "Assuming he hasn't already."

"Assuming that gargoyle even has a mother," I said, cynically. "So what exactly has Eddie said about me?" I asked, not really sure I wanted to know what the answer was. I mean, this _was _Eddie we're talking about.

"He said that you talked when you were at Acme's funeral. You helped him a lot, you know. He said you told him to finish this case, and even though he started to give up, I could see that whatever you said to him made a difference. I haven't seen him look like that in years. Not since his brother died. Whatever you said, it was a wakeup call. I'm just happy he hasn't touched a drop in two whole days," she said, rolling her eyes slightly.

"I really am glad that I could help Eddie," I said, truthfully, "Now, I have to go. My uncle is probably worried sick about me." I rose from my seat, and was swept up in a quick hug from Dolores. She whispered, "Thank you." Her eyes glistened a bit.

She sniffled, and asked, "Would you like a ride back to your Uncle's house? It's late, and I don't want you walking alone. Besides, the Red Cars don't run this time of the night."

"Thanks Dolores. After the day I've had, I don't think I could handle walking."

We drove back to my Uncle's house, and it was 11:30 at night. Uncle George ushered Dolores and me in, quickly.

After I explained what happened, Aunt Margret cried, "I'm so glad that you're safe!" and she gave me a surprisingly strong hug for a woman her size. "I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

"I'm beginning to regret ever drawing those damned weasels," muttered Uncle George from his seat on the dining room chair. "But speaking of drawing things, if you'll come here, I have the spats I promised you."

From the pocket of his bathrobe, he withdrew a pair of gray Toon spats and handed them to me. "You can go home," he said, softly.

I looked back at Dolores and Aunt Margret, and then turned to look at Uncle George. Strangers who took me in and made me feel like family when I really needed it. I couldn't leave any of them without doing something to repay that debt.

"I won't be leaving yet. You've all been so kind, all of you, and I can't thank you enough. I have something that I need to do first to repay you guys."

To Dolores, I said, "Could you give me a lift to Toontown? It's urgent."

"Sure," she said, not fully understanding why.

We were almost out the door when both Margret _and_ George hugged me goodbye. I dropped my suitcases in surprise, matter of fact.

"Will we see you again in New York?"asked Margret.

"No. I'm sad to say you won't. Not in New York, anyway. I might stop by again, though." I drew in a deep breath, and it shakily came out, "I really will miss you both so much." I sniffled a bit.

"It was nice having you visit," said Margaret, a bit sadly.

George said, a bit awkwardly at first, since he wasn't the type for sappy goodbyes, "So long. It's been a very interesting visit, I'll say." He smiled a bit. "I really do hope we see each other again, someday."

"I do too. You guys helped me more than you know, really."

I saw them waving from the driveway as we rounded the corner, as I got into Dolores' car.

When we had reached the Acme factory, it was fifteen minutes to midnight. I told Dolores to wait outside, and that I would be heading into Toontown alone, and leaving from there.

She sighed, but managed a small smile. "I guess this is goodbye, kid, huh?"

"Yeah.. it is. But I'll be back before you know it. I promise I will." I said, as I started to climb out of the car.

"Oh…Dolores?"

"Yeah?"

I smiled. "Thank you."

With that, I entered Toontown on foot, all alone.

I thought of what Eddie said to me earlier, and I realized that I needed to do something, anything, to help, no matter how insignificant it seemed.

I gathered up all the Toons I could find and told them to wait by the wall that separated Acme's factory from Toontown. I figured that, however small a thing it was, it was a way of restoring the hope of the Toons. They would soon know that their home wouldn't be destroyed. Of course, I didn't tell them that. I would let them find that out when Roger read Acme's will. My hope was restored when Uncle George helped me to get back home, so it was the least I could do to give back a little of what I got. It's corny, I know, but it's the truth.

At exactly 12:05 am, Sunday August 17th, 1947, the Dipmobile crashed through the brick wall separating the factory from Toontown, and I watched with a small smile on my face as the Toons poured in and started to sing "Smile Darn Ya Smile". I felt ridiculously happy, and a little bit sad, because I would genuinely miss this place.

When it was all finally over, I put on the spats Uncle George gave me, and picked up my suitcases. I caught Eddie's gaze, and he looked at me for a moment. He mouthed "Thank you" to me.

I walked over to Roger, Jessica, Dolores and Eddie, after Roger waved me over there, and I said, "You know, this isn't goodbye forever, guys. I'll be back again sometime."

Roger started sobbing, hugged me tightly, and through his tears, said, "I'll miss you buddy! Please come back! P-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-bleaseeee!" he blew his nose on Eddie's tie, and Eddie scowled.

He said, gruffly, "Yeah. It was… you helped me a little."

"Oh, you old faker!" chided Dolores, elbowing him across the ribs, "Thank the kid properly!"

"Oh, all right…," he said, sighing, "Thank you, kid. For telling me what I really needed to hear. I couldn't have finished this without what you told me. And maybe there _is_ something to laughs being our only weapons in life."

Roger instantly stopped blubbering and said, "Hey wait a minute! That's what I said!"

"Yeah," I said, "Laughter can be a powerful thing. Sometimes in life it's the only weapon anybody has. It's an inspiring quote."

He beamed up at me. "See, Eddie? I inspired someone! I'm not just good for comedy!"

Looking off into the distance, he said, dramatically, "I can see it now: "Roger Rabbit- The Philosopher!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Eddie, smiling and shaking his head. "You may have helped to save Toontown, kid, but don't let your ego get inflated just yet. There's still the book signings and movie deals to look forward to."

This earned a chuckle from everyone.

I could tell he was joking. Besides, I hadn't mentioned a thing to anyone about the movie except for George.

"But I will be back. This isn't goodbye forever." I said. "I'll miss you guys. Now, go and enjoy your carrot cake, guys. I have bigger fish to fry."

I watched them wave and call out their goodbyes as I walked back into Toontown. Then, Smartass' pink fedora blew by my feet. It must have blown off before he was kicked into the vat of Dip.

I picked it up, and I thought how if it wasn't for this nasty, vile little weasel throwing away his spats, I never would have discovered all of this. In a way, I owed him something, too. I thought how I may not have done quite what I'd always imagined I'd do if I ever got stuck in this movie/back in time, but I felt like things would be all right now. I may have done very little to change things, but the look on Eddie's face told me that my talk with him back in the cemetery helped, just as Dolores said. Or maybe it was just the thought of him becoming a metaphorical pickle if he kept on drinking that did the trick.

I clicked my heels, and closed my eyes, wanting to savor that last memory. I opened them up again, and was back in my room. I was home. And it was about a few minutes after I'd originally left.

That was yesterday. I didn't tell my parents yet, but I did decide to do something to record this extraordinary set of events.

I opened up a word document, and I began to type. Now, I type the final words. I'll be sure to visit them all again, sometime, now that I have both the spats that would get me home and take me there.

You know…I learned a few things from this trip. I learned that you have to stop worrying about the past. It will keep you from thinking about the future. Things don't have to be the way they are. You can change your life in an instant. Most important of all, I think is that laughter is the most important thing we have. Laugh and love daily, and you'll live. Those are some of the real messages of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit".

So now, I'm going to laugh often, and I'm going to try focus on the future. I've got a whole lot of the past to think about thanks to this trip, and God knows I don't need any more!

So, to close, in the words of that immortal comedian, Porky Pig, "Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all folks!"

The end

_**IT'S FINALLY DONE! YAY!**_


End file.
